Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10) (37 page)

“It’s done. But there’s more of a mess than we anticipated.”

“The driver?”

“Yeah, the driver. But then a little girl got out of the car.”

“You didn’t—”

“No, of course not. But I didn’t expect a child to be present. I can’t believe what I’ve done. Dammit, what have I done?”

“You need to calm down. Breathe deep. Relax. Get off the building. Exit through the back. I’ll meet you at the corner of 72nd and 37th Avenue. Through the back, Pierre. Take an alley from 73rd to 72nd. Got it?”

“OK, yeah, I got it.”

Pierre hung up. He inched his way up the wall and peeked over again. A crowd had gathered around the bodies. Sirens wailed in the distance. A man picked up the little girl and carried her away from the bloody scene.

Pierre raced across the rooftop, keeping his body low. He reentered the building. Ran down five flights of stairs. Burst through the door leading to the back. He wiped down the rifle and tossed it in the dumpster. He cut down an alley, across 73rd, and through another alley.

16

Jack positioned himself across the street from the theater. He took cover inside an apartment building that had a second story window overlooking the theater and its parking lot. Cars pulled into the lot. Some parked. Others left. People from all walks of life headed toward and into the theater. The show was due to start soon.

The sky grew dark, making Jack’s job tougher. Fortunately, the parking lot and area in front of the theater were well lit.

He wore a small earpiece. A microphone dangled from his collar.

“How’s everything going inside?”

Clarissa responded first. “I’m sitting in the second to the last row, on the right, like he requested.”

“I’m watching her from across the room,” Jasmine said. “Doesn’t appear anyone else is.”

Jack didn’t like the specified seating request that Ivanov had made. He feared that the General had a plan to execute Clarissa. He laid his fears to rest on one fact. Ivanov wanted the documents and Clarissa promised she had them.

He spoke into his microphone. “It’s quiet out here. Haven’t seen him or anyone suspicious yet. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know.”

Five silent minutes passed. Felt like an hour. No cars pulled up. Foot traffic outside the theater had been reduced to none.

A female voice spoke from behind him. She spoke in Russian. He couldn’t understand what she said. The rise of the tone indicated she was questioning him.

He turned to face the woman. She looked like an eighty year old battle ax. Tight spiraled white hair, tinted blue. A brown sack of a dress on. Both hands clutched her purse.

“I don’t speak Russian. You speak English?”

She narrowed her eyes and lowered her head an inch. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my building?”

“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security. You might not be safe in the hall. Go back—”

“If it was a national security issue, why is an American in the building instead of a Russian?”

“I can’t go into detail on that. It’s not safe for you here. You should leave.”

She took two steps forward. The woman had no fear of Jack or what he might do to her. She said, “You should leave.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Then I’ll make you.”

“How?”

A smile slowly formed on her lips, starting from the left. Old lips lifted, parting thin gray whiskers. She took two steps back, then turned, then disappeared into her apartment.

Was the old woman going to cause trouble for Jack? Should he take her out? The thought crossed his mind. It would be quick and easy and relatively painless. He shook his head and the thoughts from his mind. Turned toward the window and scanned the street.

A brown Bentley approached from the east. It rounded the corner and rolled past the theater. Stopped at the corner of the road and the parking lot.

Jack leaned into the window, pressing his forehead to the glass. He squinted to see inside the vehicle to no avail. Yellow lights flashed at the front and the back.

That’s got to be him. What’s he doing, though? Waiting for someone? More men?

A bright light flicked on and a door opened from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The old woman stood there, phone in her hand. She spoke quickly and loudly. He had no idea what she said, but felt certain it was about him.

“This is your last chance,” the old woman said. “Leave the building. Now.”

Jack ignored her. He had to confirm Ivanov’s presence.

Two cars pulled up behind the Bentley. The Bentley’s driver stepped out of the vehicle. Walked to the car behind him. Stopped at the driver’s door. The window rolled down and the man leaned forward. A few seconds later he straightened and walked to the next car. Spoke to that driver, then returned to his car.

The flashing hazard lights cut off. The car started forward, then turned right, then turned into the parking lot. The two cars followed.

The wail of sirens approached.

Jack kept his eyes on the Bentley. The driver stepped out again. He walked around the back of the vehicle. Opened the trunk and grabbed an object. Jack could not make out what it was. The driver moved to the rear passenger door and opened it.

Red and blue lights reflected off the buildings on the other side of the street. The sirens were loud. Close.

Two legs poked out of the back seat of the Bentley. The man did not emerge. The driver bent over. Looked like the two were having a conversation.

Jack looked to the left and right, where the other two cars had parked. Two men got out of each vehicle. Two of them looked vaguely familiar. From where, though? Ivanov’s headquarters? Black Dolphin? No, they were the men from Italy.

Three police cars pulled up to the building. Six cops stepped out. Two walked to the other side of the street. Drew their weapons. Aimed at the second story window. The four remaining cops walked toward the door below.

A hand reached out and grabbed a hold of the arm rest on the Bentley’s rear door. A head emerged, ducked at first, then full view. Ivanov.

The door below Jack opened. Four sets of footsteps entered. Two sets hit the stairs.

Jack turned and started up the stairs behind him. Grabbed the microphone hanging from his collar. Said, “Ivanov’s here with five attached. I recognize two. They are dangerous. I’m dark for a few.”

The cops raced up the stairs behind him. He reached the fourth floor. The stairs ended. He scanned the open area. One window in front. One in back. Two doors to his left. Two to his right. Six options. He had to choose one because the footsteps were gaining on him, fast.

17

Clarissa lifted her left wrist and placed it in front of her mouth. She spoke softly. “Jack? What’s going on?”

No response.

“Jack,” she said again. “Come in? Where’s Ivanov? Where are you?”

No response, again.

“Clarissa,” Jasmine said. “Jack can take care of himself. Let’s focus on what we have to do here.”

“OK.”

“I’m watching the door. I can see into the lobby.”

“Do you see him?”

There was a pause, then Jasmine said, “Yes, he’s here.”

Clarissa resisted the urge to turn and look. She remained seated. Eyes forward. All other senses on high alert. The air was still. The velvety red curtain hung over the stage. The low murmur of chatter filled the tall and wide room.

“He’s in the theater now,” Jasmine said. “He’s looking around.”

Clarissa wondered if anyone came in with him.

“He’s alone now, but there are a few guys in the lobby that look suspicious. That might be a problem.”

Clarissa stared at the crowd in front of her. What if someone in the crowd was a plant? How did she know that he hadn’t marked her should something happen to him? There was no room for thoughts like that. She pushed them to the side and focused. She had to be Anastasiya.

Amid the noise of the crowd she heard the hard soled shoes come to a stop next to her. The scene in front of her passed by in slow motion as she turned her head to the left. She saw the empty seat next to her. The man beyond the seat. She lifted her eyes, adjusted her gaze. Saw the man and instantly the desire to kill him burned hot inside her.

“Anastasiya?” Ivanov said.

“That’s him,” Jasmine said in her ear.

“Ivanov,” Clarissa said.

“General Ivanov,” he said.

Clarissa turned her head toward the stage. She refused to be intimidated by the man. A few seconds passed and he sat down next to her with a groan.

“Let’s get down to business,” he said.

“Not until the show starts,” she said.

“Now.”

“No.”

“I’ll have you killed when this is over.”

“You tried to have me killed before this began.” Clarissa turned her head slightly and made eye contact. “That didn’t work out too well, did it?”

Ivanov’s face hardened. He narrowed his eyes. Straightened his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that exact moment, the lights in the theater dimmed and the crowd fell to a hush.

Jasmine’s voice filled her ear again, “I’m going to the hall now. Gonna get a closer look at these other guys.” A few moments later she spoke again. Her voice rose and fell, like she was moving quickly. “Only one of them is out here. The others must have slipped into the theater.”

Clarissa waited for the entrancing music to begin playing and the actors with their flaming batons and sticks to appear. She leaned in close to Ivanov and said, “Men’s bathroom off the main hall. Last stall. Under and behind the toilet. Taped there, you’ll find the documents.”

Ivanov leaned forward to stand.

Clarissa grabbed his hand. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is.”

Ivanov lifted his hand into the air. A moment later a man stood next to him. Ivanov got up. The man took his seat. Ivanov disappeared. The man grabbed Clarissa’s wrist. He held it tightly and said, “Not a word.”

18

Jasmine stood near the building’s entrance and exit doors. She saw Ivanov emerge from the theater. He nodded at his man in the lobby, then he walked down the curved hall that led to the restrooms.

The man in the lobby waited until Ivanov disappeared past the bend in the hall, and then he followed.

Jasmine followed him. She reached into her purse. Wrapped her hand around a handle. She knew that she’d have to kill two men tonight. At least two. She rounded the curve in the hallway. Didn’t see Ivanov. Did see the man from the lobby. He stood in front of the men’s bathroom. Blocked the door. They knew that Ivanov wouldn’t come alone. Anticipated that he’d have someone either in or outside of the restroom. Outside worked better, as long as there were no witnesses.

She withdrew her hand from her purse. The man turned his head in her direction. He stared at her with cold, dead eyes. The guy was a pro, that much was obvious. Probably had no aversions to killing. That was lost after his second or third year.

She smiled at him.

He stared blankly at her.

She slowed as she neared the restroom.

He turned his head forward, kept his eyes on her.

She stopped in front of him. Turned slightly. Said, “Excuse me, is this the ladies room?”

He shrugged. Feigned disinterest by turning his head away from her. Big mistake.

Jasmine let the handle of the weapon spin in her hand. The razor sharp edge faced toward the door. Her thumb on the back of the blade. She swung her arm upward, in an arc. He noticed far too late. By the time he placed a hand on her, she had plunged the knife into his neck, severing his carotid artery. She pulled the blade out. With her free hand she covered the gash to prevent blood spray. She pulled the knife back and then plunged it into his chest, penetrating his heart.

His gurgled attempts at yelling stopped.

She held him up against the door. Used her foot to push the door open and set his body down inside. She tried to be quiet, but it was of no use.

“What are you doing out there?” Ivanov said from behind the stall door.

Jasmine said nothing. She dragged the dead man into the bathroom and let the door close behind her. Reached behind her back. She brought the pistol forward. Secured the suppressor.

“I haven’t found anything in here, Kostya. She set us up. Go tell Dimitri and escort Anastasiya outside.”

She walked across the bathroom. Stopped in front of his stall.

“Kostya?”

The stall door opened slightly. She saw his eye peering through, then the door closed and it sounded like the latch slid across to a locked position.

She fired three shots into the center of the door. Heard a groan. She stepped forward and kicked the door open. Aimed the gun at the man who pressed back against the wall. His legs straddled the toilet. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall. His other hand covered his abdomen where a bullet had hit. Blood soaked through his shirt and spread down.

“Just a flesh wound,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “I’ll live.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jasmine lifted the gun, squeezed off three more shots, the first of which hit Ivanov in the forehead. His body slid down the wall. Came to a resting position on top of the toilet. She closed the door. Tucked the gun behind her back. Stepped over the lifeless body of the man Ivanov called Kostya. Left the bathroom.

Jasmine walked into the theater. Fire was spinning and flying and rising and falling on the stage. She looked across the second to the last row. Her heart sank. Clarissa was gone. She ran out of the theater and through the lobby and past the parking lot. She stopped a block away. Yelled into the microphone, “Jack? Clarissa? Where are you two?”

19

The second door Jack tried had been unlocked. He moved through the apartment, into the back bedroom. He opened the window. Forty plus feet to the ground. Nothing around the window to grab a hold of. No fire escape. No solid drain pipes. If the cops entered the apartment his only option would be to shoot his way out. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The radio had been silent for a while. Then two things happened.